


As Sorrow

by Taste_is_Sweet



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Bugs & Insects, Challenge Response, Drama, Established Relationship, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, McShep Match Challenge 2010, Squick, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In nature there is no evil, only an abundance of horror.</i> —Isak Dinesen</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with [ribbon_purple](http://ribbon-purple.livejournal.com/)
> 
> (The First Prize banner is by [almost_clara](http://almost-clara.livejournal.com/))
> 
> The prompt was "Borrowed Time".

_Like a moth in clothing, or a maggot in wood, sorrow gnaws at the human heart._  
—Proverbs 25: 20

"Wait, wait! I've got one! This is hilarious!" Dr. Schmell crowed over Dr. Felding's amused snorts and the braying laughter of the two Marines. "A Catholic priest, a Baptist minister, and a Jewish rabbi are trying to decide what to do with their donations—"

"And then the Rabbi says, 'let's throw the coins up in the air, and whatever God wants, he keeps!'" Dr. Rodney McKay called sourly over his shoulder to the four of them. "There. Joke's over," he said above Dr. Schmell's annoyed 'hey!' "Can we please listen to something else for the next hour? Like none of you talking?" He turned to face front again. "Finally."

"Here's one," Sgt. Tanner said. "An American, a British guy and a Canadian are captured by cannibals…"

"Oh, very funny, Sergeant! I'm splitting my sides, laughing here." Rodney yelled down the grassy slope. "And that joke is politically incorrect, by the way!"

"Party pooper," Lt. Colonel John Sheppard said to him.

Rodney gaped at him. "Did you just call me a 'party pooper'?" He shook his head. "You're worse than your men. No wonder they're so undisciplined."

"Don't forget politically incorrect," John said, smiling innocently.

"How can I forget that when they won't stop talking?" Rodney sighed and rubbed the middle of his forehead. "We're not even to the outpost and they're already driving me insane. Remind me why the hell I keep thinking it's a great idea to bring the people I work with into the field?"

"Dr. Felding's a geological engineer, which is kind of useful since the outpost is inside a mountain, and Dr. Schmell's a 'reasonably capable technologist', which is a direct quote," John supplied obediently. "Lt. Alders needs the field experience and Sgt. Tanner puts up with you." He grinned when Rodney glared at him. "You asked."

"Rhetorically!" Rodney snapped. He glowered at his life-signs detector as if it was in on the conspiracy to torment him. "Amazingly enough, SGA-12's report that the planet appears to be uninhabited is accurate, Colonel. A few small animals but that's it."

"Cool," John said. He gave Rodney a sidelong, wicked smile complete with waggled eyebrows. "If we're really lucky, maybe we'll get back early."

"You're incorrigible," Rodney said, but he couldn't help smiling back.

John winked at him. "That's why you love me. Hey, I think we're here." He sped up and moved ahead of Rodney before Rodney could respond. Rodney sighed again and trudged along behind him.

They'd finally reached the large rock outcropping that hid the entrance to the outpost, covered in soft moss and thorny ivy. At one edge, almost invisible behind the growth, was the large door half buried in the sandy soil. Its design was clearly Ancient.

"Okay boys and girls," John said as he turned to look at the Marines. "Tanner, Alders, get the shovels out and start digging this door open." He turned to the scientists. "Felding and Schmell, you guys see if you can find any clues that point to what this place was for. McKay and I are gonna walk around, check things out." He clapped his hands together and smiled. "Stick together, keep McKay happy and this should be a walk in the park. McKay, you coming?" he asked over the Marine's 'yes, sir's.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Rodney made a show of being irritated as he shouldered off his pack. He shoved it at Felding. "You break anything in there, you die," he said, then stalked after John.

"Good idea," he murmured to John as soon as they were out of earshot.

This time John's smile had nothing mocking or wicked in it, just a fondness that amazed Rodney every time he received it, that John could be looking at him like that.

"I've been known to have them," John answered. Rodney felt John's fingers casually swing into his as they walked, and for an instant John let them tangle before letting go again.

"Which never ceases to amaze me, I assure you," Rodney snorted, sliding contentedly into the familiar teasing. "That's something of a power trip for you isn't it?"

John looked at him with one eyebrow lifted. "Having good ideas?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "No." He waved his hands as he spoke, gesturing in the direction they'd come and the people they'd left behind them. "Being able to order those huge men around and having them snap to follow whatever you say."

John smirked. "This coming from the Great Doctor McKay, terror of the science labs?"

"Please." Rodney sniffed. "Radek is never that agreeable when it comes to following my orders."

"Well, you could always try what you try with me," John offered, smiling sweetly.

"Right," Rodney said, mouth quirked at the corner. "Somehow I don't think Radek would respond the same way when I told him 'harder, you big stud, harder'."

John looked bemused. "Since when have you ever called me a stud?"

Rodney just grinned and picked up his pace.

* * *

"JESUS CHRIST!"

Lt. Alders' shout blasted down the short corridor like a cannon. A split second later Dr. Schmell screamed too, and then there was a loud bang of metal on hard rock.

John and Rodney shared a look and then they were racing towards the chamber where the two scientists had been left working under Lt. Alder's watch. John lifted his P90 and turned off the safety as he ran. He could hear Rodney's thundering boot falls right behind him, and Sgt. Tanner's heavy tread following them both.

John burst into the room with his gun raised, automatically looking for targets, but all he saw was Dr. Felding and Alders. Felding looked ticked off, while the Lieutenant was staring wild-eyed at something small moving on the floor.

"What happened?" Tanner demanded before John could even open his mouth. They hadn't managed to get the lights working back here, so most of the room was in shadow except for the one corner now illuminated by five flashlights. The sixth was at Schmell's feet where he'd dropped it along with his screwdriver.

"Nothing," Felding said, glaring at the Lieutenant. "Greg just saw a couple worms and flipped out."

"Sorry, sirs," Alders said sheepishly. "They, uh, I didn't expect them, sirs."

Everyone went closer, curious, though John noted that Alders quietly backed away a few steps and Schmell discretely slid behind him.

"Wow," Rodney said, sounding impressed. "Those are really disgusting."

"Yeah, gross," John agreed. He let the light from the P90 play over the insects, watching as they crawled purposely along the edge of the wall. They were smooth and completely white and each about the size of his ring finger, with two sets of stumpy little legs like inchworms.

"They look like albino tomato worms," Tanner said. He nudged one with the toe of his boot. It rolled on its side, frantically waving its tiny legs until it squirmed right way up again. He grinned toothily at Alders. "I think they're kinda cute."

Alders visibly shuddered. "They look like giant maggots," he said. "How the hell could you think that was cute? Sir," he added belatedly.

Tanner chuckled. "They're just big caterpillars, Lieutenant. Didn't your mom have a tomato garden when you were a kid?"

Alders shook his head quickly. He was starting to look a little green, John thought. "I grew up in a condo, sir."

"Can we ignore the worms and get back to work, please?" Felding interrupted icily. She pointed her light up at where the stone wall met the ceiling. "I'd rather find out if the rest of this place can be explored sooner rather than later." She glowered in Alders' and Schmell's direction. "Your screaming could've caused a cave-in as it is."

"Why don't you come and help Dr. Schmell in the other chamber, Lieutenant?" John cut in quickly before Schmell could do more than stiffen with injured pride. "Sgt. Tanner can stay here with Felding."

"Thank you, sir," Alders said. He looked so relieved that John thought the poor kid's legs might give out. He snatched Schmell's dropped equipment off the stone floor then all but fled to the other room. Dr. Schmell was right at his heels.

"No problem, sir," Tanner said to John. He turned to Felding, offering her another toothy smile. "What can I do to help you, Ma'am?"

"Keep your voice down, for one," Felding snapped.

"Right," John said. He let his P90 drop to hang from its strap and rubbed his hands together. "Back to work."

"I'll stay here," Rodney said. His attention was focused on what looked like the only intact console in the room. His body was entirely in shadow as he held his small penlight in front of him. "I might actually be able to get something out of this one."

"Suit yourself," John said, hiding the twinge of disappointment that he'd just lost his excuse to look over Rodney's shoulder. He thought briefly about staying, but leaving the nervous Alders alone with the twitchy Schmell was probably a very bad idea. "I'll be back later. Keep your radios on."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Rodney said, lifting his hand dismissively.

Sgt. Tanner gave John a bright, happy, 'yes, sir', like standing around holding a flashlight was his favorite assignment ever. Felding just grunted.

"Have fun!" John smiled wryly as he left the room.

* * *

"Colonel Sheppard," Dr. Felding spoke, brushing a strand of short, dirty-blond hair away from her eyes, "I'm not convinced the cavern's structural integrity is good enough for us to safely continue our exploration. I've been looking at the far wall," she pointed, "and there are visible signs of erosion that have me worried."

Sheppard nodded at the geologist. He'd been so bored watching Schmell and Alders that he'd been grateful when she'd radioed to call him into the antechamber. But now seeing Rodney hunched over the broken console and engrossed in his work, John felt a little guilty at how thrilled he was that they had to leave. Still, Schmell had given up his attempt to fix the console in the second chamber about twenty minutes ago, and from Rodney's frown it didn't look like they were going to find anything more than those ugly white worm-things anyway.

"Okay, people, you heard the Doc," John said, trying to keep the glee out of his voice. "Let's pack up and move out. Rodney, that means you too," he added for good measure, looking back to where Rodney was crouched next to the broken console.

Rodney rolled his eyes, sighed and began stuffing his equipment back inside his pack.

Wow, John thought at the lack of even one complaint. The place really was a dead-end. He gestured in Rodney's direction. "Sergeant, can you give McKay a hand?"

"Sir," Tanner acknowledged with a nod then went to help Rodney.

John followed the Sergeant to where Rodney knelt with his back towards John, the position pulling the fabric of his pants tight against his backside in a way John could really appreciate. "Hey, Rodney, when we get back to Atlantis, I was thinking we should pick up that game of chess we left sitting in my room last night. What d'ya say?" he asked, grinning.

Rodney stood and faced him, giving John a look that John privately called Rodney's, 'why the hell am I sleeping with you, you adorable moron?' face, which was an expression John got fairly often. "Fine, fine, whatever you say, Colonel. Just try to remember who goes first this time," he added meaningfully.

John's grin widened. "I'm sure we can—"

His words were lost in the sudden, terrible _boom! Crack!_ of the ceiling splitting above their heads. John looked up, horrified, as the cavern's roof began to break and crumble. "EVERYBODY MOVE!"

Chunks of stone dropped from the ceiling as John raced back into the first chamber. "Go! Go! Go!" He hollered at Schmell, then yelled, "Get him out of here!" to Alders when Schmell just stood there, frozen in fear. John shoved Schmell towards Alders then turned back, searching for Rodney and the others.

Rodney, Tanner and Felding should have been behind him, but there was no sign of any of them. Then John realized that they all were still in the second chamber. Oh, God.

" _McKay?_ "

John ran with one arm above his head, trying to protect himself from the debris, still falling as the outpost continued to collapse. He called for McKay again and again.

"It's Felding!" John could just make out Rodney's voice through the roar of the cracking stone. "She's hurt!"

"Stay there! I'm coming!" John yelled then coughed when he got a lungful of rock dust. He was staggering forward, still trying to breathe when a rock dropped onto him like a fist.

Everything went dark.

* * *

Rodney woke up coughing. The darkness around him was so complete he had to blink a few times to be sure he'd opened his eyes. They were painfully gritty with dirt and for a long time all he could do was lie there with his eyes watering, trying to breathe. His head hurt, and when he touched his scalp his fingers came away with the telltale wetness of blood on them. His back hurt as well, but he didn't know if that was from rocks or just the way he'd fallen. His ears were ringing: a steady, tinny buzz that muted everything around him. It was already making him nauseous.

He felt around until his elbow smacked into what might have been a wall and after checking that it was stable enough to hold his weight, he slowly pulled himself upright. Dimly, he could hear the groans and creaks of the outpost as the debris settled, but nothing else besides that. He didn't know where he was, or if anyone else was alive.

"H-hello?" His voice was a scratchy mess and he immediately started coughing again, so badly that he almost threw up. When his lungs stopped heaving he had to lean against the broken wall next to him with his eyes squeezed shut despite the oppressive darkness, because he was too dizzy to do anything else.

The dark felt like a vise around him, squeezing in.

"Clear blue skies," he murmured. "Clear blue skies. Wide open fields. I'm in a wide open field under a clear blue sky." He cleared the muddy wetness from his face with his sleeve, wondering dimly if it was sweat or blood. His head felt packed with bees.

"Hello? Hello! Is there anyone there?" he called again, louder despite how his throat was so dry it hurt. "Felding? Sergeant? IS ANYONE THERE?" He yelled as loudly as the ache in his head and the desert in his lungs would let him, but no one answered.

The last thing he remembered clearly was rolling rocks off of Felding's back and then hollering to John for help. He didn't know what happened after that. He didn't know what happened to John.

Panic seared through him. "John? John, can you hear me?" he yelled. "JOHN? JOHN! JOHN! God damn it, John! Answer me! Please! Please answer me!"

"…McKay?"

Rodney went completely still, desperately trying to hear above the ringing in his ears and the jackhammer thumping of his own heart. "John? John, it's Rodney! I'm all right! I'm here! Where are you?"

"Rodney?"

"John!" Rodney dropped heavily to his hands and knees, crawling in what he thought was the direction of John's voice. It sounded terrifyingly weak, but Rodney hoped that was just his own broken ears. "I can't see! Keep talking so I can find you!"

"You…okay?"

"What? No. I'm probably dying of a brain hemorrhage," Rodney snapped. "But my eyes are fine. It's just dark. Now shut up and tell me where to find you."

He might have heard a tiny snort of laughter, but it was too difficult to tell.

"Here! I'm here!"

Rodney swept his hands back and forth over the rock-strewn floor as he moved, trying to find a hand, a leg, anything. He held his head so close to the ground that his ear scraped over the stone. "Damn it, where are you?"

"McKay! Over here!" John's voice came again, slightly louder. Rodney reached towards it and stubbed his fingers on stone.

"Ow! Hang on, I think I found you!" Rodney called, frantic with hope. He felt along the wall, trying to calm himself enough to be able to find a loose stone. His hands were shaking. "Yes!" he hissed when his fingers met something like a seam. "Let me…" He wedged his fingers into what felt like a gap between a small stone and the rest of the wall, wincing as some of the skin ripped off his fingertips.

His fingers were almost numb by the time he managed to pull the stone free. He flattened himself on the ground and reached into the hole he'd just made, searching with his hand. It felt like he was forcing his arm down a tunnel. "John? John! John, answer me! JOHN!" he yelled when there was no response but silence. "Damn you, John, listen to me!" Rodney barked, wiping the sting of sweat from his eyes with one dirty hand. "Stay with me! You stay the fuck with me, you hear? Don't…Don't…God, John."

"McKay," John whispered. "Calm down. You're…using up my air."

Rodney couldn't see him but the smirk was audible in his tone and Rodney's heart skipped a beat, so damn grateful that Sheppard was still lucid enough to tease him. "Asshole," he muttered, still reaching in.

"Sorry," John said. "Just…kind of dizzy."

Rodney's fingers hit something cool and yielding, obviously flesh and bone. "I think I found you!" Carefully, he stretched his arm out as far as it would go, until the rock walls of the small tunnel bit into the skin on his shoulder through the tattered sleeve of his uniform shirt. "John, is that your hand?" He groped his fingers over the palm and gripped tight.

"H-hey, Rodney," John said. His fingers tightened around Rodney's. It was brief and weak, but John was there. He was alive.

"Oh thank God." Rodney's breath rushed out of him. "Thank God. I thought…" He swallowed and closed his eyes against the weight of the dark, the words that he couldn't force past the pain like rocks in his throat: _I thought you were dead._ He wanted to cry but damn it, he wouldn't. Not when John needed him to be strong, not when John needed him to be brave. He just held on. "I thought I was all alone."

"S'okay," John said. "I'm here." There was a pause that Rodney thought John might have needed just to breathe. "What about…others?"

"I don't know," Rodney said heavily. "I couldn't…You were the only one who answered."

"I'm sorry," John said.

"Me too," Rodney said. Felding was a bitch, but Rodney had liked that about her. He'd barely known Sergeant Tanner at all, but the man had been competent and seemed nice enough. Neither of them had deserved to die crushed under rock. "Maybe Schmell and the Lieutenant got out," Rodney said, because it was remotely possible that they had, since they'd been in the other chamber and closer to the way out. It also meant that maybe someone was looking for them.

"They did," John said, as if he knew.

Rodney didn't call him on the lie only because he could definitely hear John's breathing now, and it sounded like John was fighting for each one of them. "John, where are you? Can you move? It feels like there's some kind of wall between us, but I can't see how far it goes." He didn't want to release John's hand again to find out.

"I think…something landed on me," John said, and it was terribly obvious now exactly how difficult it was for him to breathe. "I'm on my back…but there's…rock right over…my face. Can't lift my head. Both arms, body…trapped. Can't move. Buried." Rodney heard him make a sound like a cough. "Chest hurts a little. Kind of…hard to breathe. Dizzy…"

"Jesus," Rodney murmured. "John?" He tried to push his arm in further, wincing as the sharp edges of the hole cut more deeply into his exposed skin. His hand was going numb.

"Can't…Can't breathe…" John said. He sounded like he was beginning to panic.

"Oh no." Rodney let go of John's hand and yanked his arm away. He winced as the blood rushed back into his shoulder, frantically clenching and opening his hand to restore circulation. He felt around the jagged edge of the hole, trying to pull more stone away and widen the aperture. When that didn't work he got to his knees and skimmed his hands over the rough stone until it felt like he'd scoured off all the skin on his palms, but he couldn't find any other cracks he could use to try and make another hole. "John! John, are you still there? Answer me, please!"

"Still here," John said. He was gasping, but his voice sounded a little bit stronger, Rodney thought. "Thank you."

"For what?" Rodney stopped moving so he could listen. It was so hard to hear John properly with the constant jangling in his ears. He wasn't even sure what John had said.

"What you did. More air," John said.

"Oh," Rodney said. He blinked his gritty eyelids. "But I didn't do anything. I just took…Oh." The narrow tunnel he'd made by removing the stone was the only thing keeping John from suffocating to death. "Good to know," Rodney said softly, wide-eyed in the dark. He swallowed. "I'm, uh, I'm going to see if I can find a way out of here."

"Sure," John said.

"Great," Rodney murmured. He wiped his eyes again on his shirtsleeve. He tried not to think about John, who had so little room he couldn't raise his head, or about what would have happened if Rodney hadn't woken up when he did, or if he'd looked for John in the wrong direction.

Rodney shuffled forward on his knees and immediately managed to put his full weight on something small and very solid underneath his shin. "Ow! Fuck!"

"Rodney?"

"It's nothing, I'm fine," Rodney said immediately. "I just put my leg on something." He grimaced but tried not to swear out loud as he gingerly moved his leg, in case John heard him and got worried and tried to speak. Rodney patted the floor until he found what he'd been leaning on. It was one of the small penlights. "I found a flashlight!" he exclaimed as he switched it on.

The beam was slender and dull, but it worked. "Yes! John, it works!" Rodney called to him, more relieved than he wanted to admit now that he could see again. The makeshift cavern that had been created by the outpost's collapse was maybe two jumper lengths long and one wide, far smaller than the original room had been. It looked like a huge chunk of the ceiling had fallen almost vertically to the ground, effectively walling off half the chamber. Rodney was on the side with the Ancient consoles—nothing left of them now but crushed scrap. John was on the other side nearer to the way out, except Rodney was certain there wasn't half a room there anymore, just rock and dirt that had trapped John completely but miraculously hadn't killed him.

Rodney shone the light up and down, slowly going over the entire length of the wall, but there wasn't any way to get to John, nothing but the pathetically small hole Rodney had managed to tear out of the base of the wall.

"Anything?" John asked him.

"Maybe," Rodney lied. He swung the flashlight away from the wall to point it ahead of him at the collapsed mess of what had been the west side of the second chamber, where Felding was when she decided the outpost wasn't safe, and where she'd been when the ceiling caved in.

"I'm really sorry, Susan," Rodney said quietly. He shone the light along the ground trying to find her, dreading both that he would and that he wouldn't. It took a few minutes to realize that the two, dirt-covered tubes he was looking at were actually a pair of legs. "I think I found Felding," Rodney said, trying to keep the clench of horror out of his voice. It looked like the wall might've cut her in half. Rodney just hoped to hell she'd already been dead when it happened.

"Dead?" John asked him. Rodney recognized the grief in his voice and knew John was blaming himself for yet one more person he couldn't save.

"It's not your fault," Rodney said. If anything, it was his: for not leaving earlier instead of making certain there was nothing to find; for not being fast enough when the rocks began to fall.

John didn't answer.

Rodney sighed and moved closer. He stayed on his hands and knees because he was a little worried he'd vomit if he stood up. He was used to touching dead bodies by now, but he still hesitated before he brushed the dirt off the feet and legs. The shoes were definitely civilian-issue and too small to belong to a man. And the pant legs were standard tan when Rodney cleared the dirt off them.

"Yeah, it's Felding," Rodney said sadly. "She, ah, I think she died fast, at least. That's something."

"Not really," John said.

"Not really," Rodney parroted under his breath. He swept more dirt off her leg, even though he knew there was no reason for it. It just felt wrong to leave her body lying there as if he didn't care about it. Her. Rodney grimaced to himself and put the flashlight in his mouth to hold it so he could feel around where Susan's waist was swallowed by the wall. Not because he really thought she could still be alive, but because he couldn't stand the idea of not making absolutely certain. Susan's body was already cooling, taking on the damp chill of the earth covering her. And then something moved under his hand.

Rodney let out a shriek and threw himself backwards, landing hard on his ass and sending flares of pain shooting through his head.

"Rodney?" John called to him, "Rodney! What happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Rodney said quickly. "Something startled me."

"What?" John asked. Rodney could hear him panting, forcing breath out his overburdened lungs. "What is it?"

"Stop talking!" Rodney barked. "I don't know what it is. Something just moved, that's all. Hang on. I need to get the flashlight." It fell when he'd opened his mouth, but it was easy to see because of the light. Rodney had managed to drop it on Susan's ass, which was almost morbidly funny except that the cloth beneath the light had started writhing, as if there were things twisting and tumbling together underneath it.

Rodney shuffled closer, eyes fixed to Susan's legs in horrified fascination. He plucked the flashlight up without touching anything else and then shone the light full on Susan's pants, feeling absurd and embarrassed along with the revulsion.

The waistband of Susan's jacket was just visible sticking out of the rubble that had buried her. It moved a little bit, and one of the large, white worm-like insects the Lieutenant had been so frightened of crawled out from underneath it. It stopped, moved its little mushy face back and forth as if looking for something, and then neatly slid under the waist of Susan's pants to join its companions in a roiling, squirming mass.

"It's the tomato worm things," Rodney said, then cleared his throat to lose the hoarse, disgusted whisper in it. "I think they're eating her. What's left of her, I mean."

"Like maggots?"

"Yeah," Rodney said, nodding numbly even though no one could see it. "I think…Yeah. I can hear them chewing." And then he had to work very hard not to gag.

"Jesus," John whispered.

"Yeah," Rodney said.

"She's…really dead…right?" John asked. Rodney could hear the echo of his own horror in John's voice.

"She is. Don't worry, she really is," Rodney said, glad he didn't have to lie about it. Because he would have and he was a terrible liar.

* * *

"Rodney. You've stopped talking. I…know that's…a bad sign."

John's voice was even more muffled now that Rodney was on the other side of what was left of the chamber, but Rodney could still hear the strain in his voice, and how many breaths he had to take so he could speak. It was obvious that it was getting worse.

Rodney glanced up at the terrifyingly low ceiling, trying to see if it had sunk any further. With only the narrowing beam of the dying flashlight it was impossible to tell. Rodney didn't know if John was slowly being crushed by settling debris, or if his increasingly labored breaths were from his injuries alone. All John had said was that his chest hurt, but Rodney knew that could mean any number of things and all of them very, very bad.

"I'm calculating how likely it is for the rest of the roof to cave in," Rodney said, even though until that moment he'd actually been huddled against the crumbled wall with his legs drawn up as tightly as he could hold them, watching the maggots eat what was left of poor Dr. Felding, how her pants undulated and heaved as the insects devoured her legs and her formerly-shapely ass. She'd almost slapped Rodney once, when she'd caught him staring at her backside. She couldn't stop him now, but pretty soon there'd be nothing left to look at but writhing insects and pelvic bones.

The constant, deliberate chewing seemed very loud in the dense silence of the little room.

"Such a-an optimist," John gasped through a laugh then made a small noise of pain.

Rodney launched himself away from the wall, scrabbling on his hands and knees back to the hole. It made his head swim violently, but he managed to ignore the nausea that came with it as he stretched himself out on the broken stone floor.

"What? What is it? What's happening?" Rodney demanded. He lay face-down on the floor, twisting his neck awkwardly to peer into the dark opening. He carefully squirmed one of his hands in next to his head so he could shine the flashlight in, but all he could see were the tips of John's fingers and the blood glistening red through the smears of dirt. "John?" Rodney dropped the flashlight so he could thrust his arm through the hole again. He fumbled his way to John's fingers and gripped his hand.

"Ow," John said, but he held Rodney's hand just as tightly as Rodney was holding his. Still there; still alive.

"What is it?" Rodney asked again. "Are you all right?"

"Nothing," John said, which Rodney knew was a blatant lie even without the fact that John could barely say the word. "Just laughing. Bad idea. I'm fine."

"Like hell," Rodney snarled. He shoved his arm in until his shoulder ached, but the most he could reach was John's wrist. He tried to find John's pulse but couldn't feel it under his dirt-covered sleeve. "What the hell is it with you military types and always insisting you're fine? Do you really think there's any possible way I could believe that?"

"No point…worry…about what you can't…change," John said.

"Oh, God, now you sound like Ronon," Rodney said, and was gratified to hear the breathy chuckle, but then John gasped again.

"Don't…make me laugh," he said.

"Right, right," Rodney said quickly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry." He ran his thumb up and down over the backs of John's fingers, the one pitiful thing he could do to offer comfort, painfully aware that he couldn't leave his arm blocking the hole for long. "I wish I had morphine."

"Me too," John said.

Rodney swallowed. "Well, I'm sure Jennifer will give you bucket loads of the stuff as soon as you're out of there," he said as breezily as possible.

"Sure," John panted.

"Absolutely," Rodney said firmly, "We'll get through this. We've both survived worse scrapes than this before, right? Hell, this is nothing compared to being trapped on the bottom of an ocean!" He went on before John could try to answer, "And it's not like you've never had a building fall on you before. This is just par for the course in Sheppard world, isn't it? _Isn't it?_ " he repeated when John didn't respond. "Come on," Rodney said, clawing a shaking laugh out of his throat. "You know being Mr. Positive isn't exactly my forté. here!"

John didn't answer.

"John?" For a long, terrible moment Rodney thought that John was dead, that his heart had finally given out under the weight of the stone. Then John's hand moved and Rodney breathed out a trembling sigh of relief.

"Rodney," John said with awful care, "I'm not—"

" _Don't you dare!_ " Rodney shouted his terror into the tiny breech that separated them. "You are _not_ giving up on me, understand? We are _both_ getting out of here, and when we do I'm going to kill you for scaring me like this, got it? You, you just…" Rodney's voice had started to shake, and he had to swallow a few times until his throat didn't hurt too much to speak. The dirt was making his eyes sting. "You just need to hang on a bit longer, okay? Just a little bit longer until we're rescued. You're going to be fine."

"You're right," John said. "You…are terrible at this."

Rodney made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Yes, thank you. I know." He took a breath, still automatically stroking the back of John's red stained fingers. "You're not going to give up on me, John," he said fiercely. "I'm not letting you give up on me. I'm stuck with you, remember? You wouldn't let me say goodbye then, and I'm sure as hell not letting you say goodbye now."

"Sorry," John said.

"Good," Rodney said. "Asshole. Scaring me li—!" His words broke on a scream.

Rodney dropped John's hand and wrenched his arm out of the hole, jerking to his knees so fast he didn't even register how it made his head spin. His shin hit the small flashlight and sent it rolling over the stone floor, the narrow beam turning like a kaleidoscope. He instinctively slapped at the burning pain in his hand and felt the waxy, pulpy mass of a maggot burst under his palm.

"Jesus Christ!" What was left of the worm was still wriggling, its round, cheese curd face rocking back and forth over the bite it had made on the side of Rodney's hand. It didn't let go until Rodney scraped it off on the wall beside him.

"Rodney! Rodney!" He heard John yelling with what was left of his breath, gasping between the words.

"The fucking tomato worm just bit me!" Rodney yelled back, shock and revulsion turning his voice into a screech. He stared in dumb, saucer-eyed horror at the bright red gouge under the knuckle of his little finger. A chunk as large as a fingernail had been bitten out of his flesh.

"Bit you?" John repeated.

"Yeah," Rodney said. He put the wound in his mouth to suck on it, realized what he was doing and spit violently into the dirt. "I must've had my left hand too near to, um, dinner." He backed up a step until his knees were even with the hole, keeping his eyes on Susan's writhing corpse. Her pants had flattened out and her boots had sagged to flop emptily on the cracked ground, reminding Rodney of the Wicked Witch in Oz when Dorothy's house landed on her. Except his head was doing the _ding-dong_ ing and maggots were dripping out of the pant cuffs like a grotesque magic trick.

Rodney looked down at his hand again. There was blood smeared all over the fingers, probably from absentmindedly wiping the blood on his forehead out of his eyes. He'd been lying near them; maybe they could smell it.

"Oh Fuck," Rodney said softly. He backed up another step then reached down and snagged the flashlight. As soon as he did the nearest maggot reared up on its tail, its tiny little arms waving like chubby stalks in the wind. It fell onto both sets of its legs and started its steady, undulating crawl towards him.

Towards John.

"This is not happening," Rodney murmured. "This is not fucking happening." He shifted his weight onto one bent knee so he could raise his foot and then awkwardly stomped on the worm, grinding it into the stone.

"Rodney?"

"Nothing!" Rodney said loudly. He lurched to his feet. He stepped on another maggot, then two more, trying not to hear or feel the sickening pop and squish as he crushed them. "Nothing to worry about. I'm just, ah, making sure the maggots don't get close enough to smell you."

"Close…enough?" John choked out. "What…?"

"Shut up! Trying to concentrate, here!" A maggot had crawled onto the top of his boot. Rodney scraped it off with his other foot, smearing guts like whitish jam. He didn't realize another one had gotten higher than that until he felt the bite on his calf just above the laces. He screamed, yanked up his pant leg and ripped the insect off with a piece of his skin dangling from its mouth. He dropped it as it was trying to turn in his hand to bite him again and then stamped it into the ground.

Rodney swore and bent down, scrambling to stuff his trouser cuffs into his socks. Susan's pants were still emptying, spilling pulsing insects onto the chamber floor. There was nothing left of her legs but bone.

"Um, John?" Rodney said, trying not to let any of his mounting fear bleed into his voice. "I think it might be a good idea for me to cover the hole between us for a little while." A maggot was right in front of the hole, doing its rearing and waving thing. Rodney mashed it with the toe of his boot. His soles had a thick layer of insect pulp that oozed up the sides of his boots every time he stepped down. It was getting slippery. The stench of their dead bodies reminded him of dandelion sap, only more acid. He hoped it wasn't toxic because he smelled it every time he breathed.

"There's no…air in here…Rodney," John said.

"I know," Rodney grit back. "It'd just be for a couple of minutes." He grimly plucked a maggot off his sock and hurled it against the far wall, but not before it twisted and bit part of his finger. "Fuck!" He stamped extra hard on two more maggots, only to have his feet shoot out from under him. Something wrenched in his leg and he landed badly on one knee. "Ow! God damn it!" He used his good leg to lever himself back to his feet, clutching at the tumbled wall next to him. His newly-bad leg protested every movement with electric jolts of pain.

"Rodney! Rodney! You…okay?"

"I'm fine! Stop talking before you pass out." Rodney was forced to step gingerly on his bad leg, and he didn't dare put weight on it in case it gave out. He estimated that he must have killed at least fifty of the worms by now, but it didn't seem to have made any kind of difference. They reminded him of ant swarms, the kind he'd only seen in movies where billions of them carried off living human beings. Rodney was panting with exertion, and he could feel the sting of sweat and blood dripping down his forehead into his eyes. "I really think we should close up the hole, John."

"Or…maggots…will eat me?" John asked, and Rodney could hear the hitch of fear in his voice. "Like…Felding?"

"Just a precaution!" Rodney said. Two maggots were inching determinedly up his leg, trying to bite through the cloth of his pants. Rodney hip-checked them dead against the wall, wincing at the warm, viscous fluid that soaked into the cloth. Dirt and pebbles rained down from the ceiling. He heard John trying to cough. "Sorry!" Rodney gritted his teeth, imagining dirt falling on John's face with John powerless to do anything about it. He hoped he didn't have any in his eyes. He hoped he could still breathe.

"Don't…" John panted, and Rodney thought he was trying to say, "don't do that again," except John took a few more breaths and said, "Don't let them eat me," with such real, blatant terror that Rodney immediately thought of ant swarms and Iratus bugs and how he really, really couldn't think of any worse way to die than being eaten alive while lying helpless in the dark.

"Not going to," Rodney ground out. "You're going to be fine, okay? Just—I need a few minutes to kill them all." He took a breath of the fetid air and then used his foot to roll back the chunk of ceiling he'd originally pulled away. It fit back into the hole like a puzzle piece, but Rodney only tapped it gently with his foot, frightened that if he packed it too tightly he wouldn't be able to pull it out again. "It's just for a few minutes!" he yelled to make sure John could hear him.

"Don't…forget," John said.

"I won't," Rodney said, though he thought John might have been joking. It didn't feel like a joke.

It was a bit easier to concentrate on the maggots without having to worry about John, especially since they apparently needed to be fairly close to their prey in order to smell it. The worms—still far, far too many of them—converged on Rodney quite nicely once he'd cut off the only way to get to John. Of course, Rodney had been bitten several times by now so he supposed he smelled particularly appetizing. All Rodney could smell was the dandelion-acid bug guts. He didn't think he'd ever be able to pass a flower shop again without throwing up.

Rodney swept a bunch of maggots into a pile with his hurt leg, then balanced on his other leg while he gingerly stomped them into oblivion, wincing every time his bad leg had to bear any weight. He put his hand on the wall for balance but didn't dare lean on it in case it made more rock shift. He didn't know if it was the omnipresent stench or the fact that he surely had a concussion, but his head was killing him, hurting so badly that it was hard to concentrate and even difficult to see. Everything blurred around the edges in the thin beam of the penlight.

There didn't seem to be any end to the worms.

They crawled out of Susan's flattened pant cuffs and undulated their way sickeningly towards him along the floor in a never-ending army of voracious insects. Rodney put the light between his teeth so he could pick up one of the larger chunks that had fallen from the ceiling and then used it to smash entire groups of worms until the rock was so slimy that he couldn't hold it anymore.

He yanked the light out of his mouth so he could talk again. "You still in there, John?" Rodney was panting with effort, sweat stinging his eyes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then grimaced when he realized he'd spread worm paste on his skin. It felt like he was covered in it, like he'd never get it off him. He was so revolted that it was like he couldn't even feel it anymore. There was nothing but the numb rote of killing the maggots and estimating how much time John had left to breathe.

"Still…here," John said. Rodney could barely hear him with the rock blocking the tunnel, but he could tell how long John paused between words, like he was struggling for any air at all. "Dizzy."

"Fuck," Rodney hissed. He squished another maggot with his bad leg, tried to put more of his weight on it and almost fell. "You know," he panted, "I really don't think there was this many to start with. It's like they've multiplied or something."

"You…okay?"

"No," Rodney said. He toed a maggot into the dirt and grinned as he killed it, only to be bitten an instant later by one that had managed to climb all the way to his stomach and crawled under his shirt. "Fucking hell!" He slapped his belly until the pain lessened, not even caring about the insect pulp he smeared on himself. "I'm fine!" he said quickly, not wanting to worry John. "I just got bitten again. No big deal."

"How…many?" John asked.

"Stop talking!" Rodney snarled at him. "I don't know how many of these fuckers bit me. A lot. God damn it," he swore as yet another phalanx crawled out of Susan's body. "It's like they're coming through the fucking wall!"

Rodney stopped dead, staring at the wall across from him. The worms were still coming, like they were using Susan's body as a bridge. Or a tunnel. "Oh, no. Oh no. Jesus Christ, no."

"What?" John demanded. His voice was soft and dry as sand. "What…wrong?"

"I have to get you out of there," Rodney said, horror bleaching the emotion from his voice. "I think, um, I'm pretty sure there may be a nest of them, or something, on the other side of the wall. I think they've been coming through the cracks in the stone."

There was a long, awful silence as John figured out what that meant. "I…can't move." he said.

"I know," Rodney said. "Maybe I can move the rock, someh—OW!" He made a fist around the maggot gnawing on his thumb then wiped its remains off on his pants. At least five of them had started crawling up his legs while he was standing still. He swept them off and crushed them.

"Can't," John gasped. "S-Solid…" Rodney heard a faint retching sound. "Can't breathe."

"Oh my God." He'd almost forgotten about the stone. He couldn't think anymore, between the stench and the jackhammer cracking his skull apart. Rodney dropped to the floor so fast the room spun and it felt like his knee broke. He pulled the rock away from the hole and used it to kill three more maggots, trying to ignore the ones he could feel already on his body. "John? John, can you hear me?"

He could hear John's labored breathing, but it was impossible to tell if his breaths were coming easer or not. "Still here," John said, and maybe he was having less trouble speaking with the block gone. "B-But I think…I can hear…" All of a sudden he started screaming. "They're biting me! They're biting me! Rodney! RODNEY! Help me! Get them off! _Get them off!_ "

"Oh no." Rodney slid down until he was lying again, pressing his cheek to the slick broken stone, penlight in his mouth so he could see into the dark. He could taste the insects' viscera on his lips and knew that in seconds they would be all over him, but it didn't matter. He reached as far as he could into the tunnel, tried to grab John's flailing arm, pull the maggots off. He spat the flashlight out so he could speak. "Where are they? Where are they biting you?" He thought he crushed one between his fingers, but it might just have been a handful of John's blood. "John! Where are they biting you?"

"Everywhere! Everywhere! Help me! Please help me!" John was scraping his arm to shreds on the cracked stone that had trapped it, trying to get the maggots off the rest of his body.

"John! John! Stop! Your arm! You're breaking your arm!" Rodney cried. He tried to grab for John's fingers but he couldn't reach. John was screaming like an animal. He pulled so hard on his arm to get it out of the tunnel that Rodney physically heard the pop as the shoulder joint gave out.

John kept screaming, in so much agony he was beyond words, and Rodney thought about maggots as big as tomato worms biting his chest, through his cheeks, into his eyes…

Rodney lurched to his hands and knees, dragged his 9MM from its holster then held it parallel to the floor, pointing the barrel into the tunnel in the direction he hoped John's heart and lungs would be. "I'm sorry!" He said, and his words were lost in John's screams. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry."

Then he fired every bullet in the chamber.

The screaming stopped.

Rodney picked up the penlight and slowly pulled himself to his feet; it didn't matter how much weight he put on the wall anymore. There were maggots on his arms and under his shirt. He could feel at least two of them biting his back. He used the butt of the gun to rub them dead against his skin. Then he reloaded the handgun.

His vision was blurry and his hands were shaking so badly it was impossible to aim, but he didn't have to hit anything specific. Rodney emptied the second magazine at what was left of the ceiling, at the point where half of it had fallen. It crumbled with a roar, tumbling down over what was left of poor Susan's body, cascading like an avalanche over the worms, burying the hole leading to John.

Rodney closed his eyes and spread his hands, waiting for the rest of the ceiling to fall and crush him too. But it didn't.

Swaying, he slowly blinked open his eyes.

He was standing in what was left of the chamber now: a space the size of a transporter with a canted block of the ceiling lying like an A-frame or part of a tent. Maybe it would collapse eventually; maybe it wouldn't. Maybe Rodney would run out of air.

Rodney dropped the empty gun then used what seemed to be a clean part of his shirt to wipe the dirt out of his eyes. His shirt stank of maggots and suddenly he couldn't stand it anymore. He yanked his shirt off, scrambling it desperately over his head and down his arms. He dropped his flashlight in the process and the light dimmed as it rolled and bounced along the floor. Viciously, he threw his shirt away from him with all of his strength. It hit against the far wall but in the small space it wasn't nearly far enough, so Rodney buried it. He knelt on the ground and scooped armfuls of earth and broken stone over the cloth until his arms were bleeding from jagged cuts and he couldn't see the ragged, stained cloth anymore. Until finally all he could smell was dirt and his own blood.

He was distantly aware that he'd started screaming—deep, wrenching howls of horror and grief and rage. It felt like he was standing somewhere else, calmly watching Rodney McKay losing his mind. He screamed until his voice broke and his throat felt like it was bleeding. Then he just sat slumped against the wall. His face was wet with tears or sweat or blood or snot, probably all of them. Rodney used his hands to rub it off, since he had nothing else. It didn't matter anyway.

The space he was in was cold and dark, and very small.

"Clear blue skies," he whispered, because he had no voice left to make any louder sound. "Clear blue skies." But all he could see was the dark gathered around him, cold, suffocating and silent.

And John was dead, and he'd died screaming.

And Rodney could hear the minute scrabbling of the maggots, finding their way towards him in the dark.

* * *

"Rodney! Rodney, can you hear me?"

" _John?_ " Rodney scrabbled for the penlight and snatched it up, though it's batteries were almost dead and all it could produce was a narrow, anemic beam. "John? Where are you?" The sudden feeling of joy at the inexplicable sound of John's voice—strong, whole and alive—surged through Rodney in a wave so powerful it hurt, actual physical pain like he couldn't breathe.

"John! I'm here! I'm here! Where are you?" Rodney all but threw himself against the dirt and shards and started digging, scooping the earth away like a dog. And then John was right there, with his hair grey from dust and his skin caked with dirt, but he was alive and grinning like this had all been some grand adventure. He laughed when Rodney pulled him into his arms.

Rodney kissed him, holding him tight, tight, and he felt John's fingers sliding softly under the back of his shirt. Then John started pinching him. Rodney tried to ignore it, tried to keep kissing John, tried to keep him there, until the pinching spread to his belly and his arms and it hurt so badly that Rodney was awake and bewildered until the dream faded entirely and suddenly he realized that he was trapped and his light had gone out and he was being eaten alive.

He struggled away from the wall and rolled onto his back to smash the maggots against the floor, then swiped them away from his neck and slapped his stomach to kill the ones biting him there. Almost instantly he could feel more crawling onto him, over the naked skin of his belly, up his chest and arms. One wriggled into the wet pocket of his armpit, another poked its head into the shell of his ear. He was being bitten on his sides, his wrists, his fingers, his cheeks. He swept off handfuls, crushed them in his fists like berries. He rolled like his body was on fire, until he was slick with ooze and blood. His head roared like a machine. He was screaming like an animal and still they kept coming.

He was going to die like this, he realized: blind and terrified and in pain. Just like John.

The roar grew like the drumbeat throb of the blood in his ears, and then all of a sudden half of his prison disappeared and Rodney was washed in sunlight so fierce he stopped fighting the worms so he could slap his hands over his eyes.

"Dr. McKay!"  
"Rodney!"  
"Jesus Christ! Get those things off him!"  
"Quickly now, bring him into the sunlight!"

The voices washed over him like the sun, words tangled and meaningless. He was aware of hands grabbing his arms and legs, of thrashing as they hoisted him like a toy, the way the constant pain of the bites stopped and how the worms were swept off him like leaves. He thought maybe someone said something about UV radiation killing them. He felt his pants and underwear being cut off him and tried to stop it. He didn't want to be left naked in case the insects came back, but they held his arms easily and someone he was sure was Teyla told him it was all right, they were making sure no worms were left on him. Then they wrapped him in a thermal blanket.

Even with the warmth of the sun on his skin and the heat of the blanket, the air was still cool. Rodney started shivering, teeth chattering like a child in winter. He thought a maggot bit the inside of his arm, tried to kill it, but someone gently took his hand and held it tight.

"It's okay, Buddy. You're safe now. We got you," someone said. "The Doc just wants to make sure you're topped up before we take you back to Atlantis."

It sounded like John.

"I'm still dreaming," Rodney murmured. He tried to open his eyes, but it hurt too much.

"Here, pass those over." the man who couldn't be John said, obviously speaking to someone else. Rodney heard the snap of fingers and then someone carefully raised his head and slid a pair of polarized goggles over his eyes. "That's better. Now you can open your eyes."

Rodney did.

"Morning, Sunshine," John said. He had stitches along one temple, going so far into his hairline that a patch was shaved to the skull, and he looked grey and shaky and like death warmed over even through the artificial shadow of the goggle lenses. But he was grinning like an idiot, like he was looking at something wonderful.

But John was dead.

"I'm still dreaming," Rodney said.

"No, Rodney," John said. He took Rodney's hand again. His fingers were astonishingly warm. "You're awake. This is real. We got you out."

"No," Rodney said. "No. This isn't real. You can't be real." He sat up, struggling with the blanket and I.V. line in his arm.

"Rodney. Rodney!" John let go Rodney's hand to grab the sides of his head. "Rodney! Look at me! I'm here. I'm real. You can see me, right?" He grinned again at Rodney's slow, uncertain nod.

"We need to get him back to Atlantis, Colonel." That was Carson, his worried brogue as comforting as the warming blanket.

"Give me a minute," John said. He looked back at Rodney. "Rodney, It's me. It's me. I'm right here."

"No," Rodney repeated. He yanked his head out of John's hands and then almost keeled over when the sudden movement made the world go black. He came to fighting, trying to stand. "No! You can't be. Who's down there?" he demanded. " _Who's down there?_ Who did I kill? Who did I kill, John?" He grabbed John's shirt with fists that shook so much he could barely hold on, staring desperately up at the confusion in John's eyes. "He said he was you! _He said he was you!_ "

"What's he talking about?" That was Jennifer, and Rodney could hear that she didn't understand. He'd never managed to do what she wanted.

"Wait," John said, and the urgency in his voice made Rodney go still the way nothing and no one else could. "Rodney, I wasn't down there with you. They got me out. We've been trying to get to you."

Rodney swallowed. "It was you," he whispered. "I—the maggots…John…You were screaming. I-I couldn't…"

"It's okay, Rodney," John said quietly. He gently placed his hands on Rodney's shoulders, keeping him upright. Rodney's own hands, he realized, were still gripping the front of John's black uniform shirt. "It's okay. It's over now. You're all right."

"I think he means Sgt. Tanner, Sir," someone said. Rodney looked at him. He was one of the Marines who had gone with them into the ruins. Rodney had no idea what his name was. He seemed very young. "Dr. McKay? Did…" The Marine blinked a few times, then swallowed and pulled himself up straight. "Was Sgt. Tanner with you, Dr. McKay?"

Rodney just stared blankly at him.

"Sergeant John Tanner," John said gently. "His first name is John."

* * *

John sat at Rodney's bedside, listening to the reassuring sound of his soft, steady breathing as he lay dreaming in a medicated sleep. The machinery monitoring his heartbeat and oxygen beeped and chirped in a steady, comforting rhythm.

Every so often a nurse would appear to check the machines and Rodney's bandages and John would wait with a white-knuckled grip on the arms of his chair for any update on Rodney's condition. Almost all of Rodney's body had bite marks on it, wounds about the size of John's smallest fingernail torn out of Rodney's skin. He striped with bandages everywhere, looking like a character from an old kiddie cartoon. His arms and hands were covered with cuts and scrapes as well, and he'd torn three of his fingernails off. But Beckett was almost certain most of the injuries wouldn't scar.

John closed his eyes and rubbed one hand tiredly across them then back through his hair, pulling on the thick strands. He winced a little as his palm grazed his stitches, still new enough to hurt. He sighed and let his head fall into his hands, exhausted.

Rodney wouldn't have scars on the outside, anyway.

"I'm sorry, Rodney," John said. "It was meant to be a fucking cakewalk. God I wish…" He shook his head. "I wish we'd been faster. I wish I'd been with you. I wish you would've never had to live through that."

He heard Rodney's breathing hitch, and when John dropped his hands Rodney was looking at him, blinking slowly like he couldn't understand what he was seeing.

"Hey, Rodney," John said, forcing a smile. He leaned forward and took Rodney's hand gently in his own, careful of the bandages that littered Rodney's skin.

"John?" Rodney asked, drowsy and still unsure. It made John's heart clench, hearing his name spoken like that.

He reached out to gently brush Rodney's hair back and away from his forehead, and then bent to press a kiss to Rodney's brow. "Yeah, buddy, it's me," he said. "I'm here. You're safe now. Go back to sleep."

Rodney's eyes were wide and clouded by painkillers and the antihistamines Beckett had filled him with as a precaution. He lifted a hand so wrapped with bandages it looked like a mitten, but it was shaking too badly for Rodney to reach John's face. John moved Rodney's hand for him, holding it to his stubble-roughened cheek.

"It's me, Rodney," John said. "I'm here. I'm right here. I'm all right."

Rodney's eyes turned liquid, and when he blinked tears spilled onto his face. "I'm sorry," he said. His voice was still rough from screaming. When they'd finally dug through to the buried chamber they'd been able to hear it even over the engine of the backhoe. "I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to save you."

"Hey, hey, it's all right," John said. He cleared the wetness off Rodney's face and then carefully moved Rodney's bandaged hand from his cheek so he could hold it on his thigh. "You did save me. See? I'm okay. I'm right here."

Rodney just shook his head. "The worms ate you."

"That wasn't me," John said, even though he knew it was hopeless. Rodney was too drugged and too shell-shocked to believe him. "That was Sgt. Tanner."

"I shot you," Rodney said as if he hadn't heard John at all. "You were screaming." He looked at John beseechingly, like it was desperately important he explain. "You broke your own arm, trying to get them off your face." His next breath caught. "But you couldn't. You couldn't. And…And so I—"

"Shh, shh, it's all right." John tried to soothe him, hoping none of the pain he was feeling came through on his face. He carefully returned Rodney's hand to the bed so he could run his fingers through Rodney's hair again. Rodney had been meticulously cleaned because Beckett was worried about allergens and infection. Rodney's hair was freshly washed and baby-soft as always. "It's all right. You did—" John swallowed. He'd imagined himself in Rodney's place over and over again since they'd pulled him out of the hole: thinking the person he loved was trapped and in agony, and being unable to save them. He wasn't sure he would've survived it. "You did the only thing you could," John forced the words past the painful tightness in his throat. "You were so brave, Rodney. I'm so proud of you."

"I'm sorry, John," Rodney said. "I love you."

"I love you too," John said. His voice felt like gravel, but he'd said it. He hoped Rodney had heard him.

Rodney sighed and fell back to sleep with John's fingers running softly through his hair.

John stood silently and went out of the curtained recess where Rodney lay. He let out an explosive breath and slumped back against the wall, feeling as wrung out as when they'd first brought Rodney back to Atlantis. And then they'd found poor Tanner's body, and realized what Rodney had done.

So brave.

_God, Rodney. Oh God._

* * *

"Are you sure this is safe?" Rodney said, poking his head out of the jumper's back hatch like a gopher about to see his shadow. "I mean, there could be fault lines, or something. Or really bad UV radiation."

"We're fine, Rodney," John said, doing his best to keep his patience. "Atlantis has been using this planet as a vacation spot for two years, remember? Nothing bad has ever happened to anyone."

"There's always a first time," Rodney said miserably.

John almost snapped at him, but he saw that Rodney was rubbing his scar again and shut up. Beckett had been right; Rodney was almost entirely unscarred. There was just one on Rodney's right hand between the thumb and index finger, round and indented like a pox scar. Rodney had never hinted at what the mark meant to him, but John knew that Rodney had developed a habit of rubbing it whenever he was feeling anxious.

John took a breath, dropped the duffel bag on the pristine white sand and walked back to the jumper's hatch. "Dr. Hykoshi said you were ready to go out in the field again, remember?" He took Rodney's hand and pulled it to his mouth to kiss the scar. He looked Rodney in the eye, still holding his hand. "I know you're scared, but I promise we're safe. I _promise,_ " he repeated when Rodney looked like he was going to argue again. He kept staring levelly at Rodney until Rodney's shoulders slumped and he turned around to pass John the two duffels he'd brought with them. John privately figured that Rodney had packed enough food, equipment and sunscreen for a small platoon, but he hadn't said a word about it, even when Rodney had made him carry everything. If Rodney had to fill the entire jumper full of supplies, that was fine. The important thing was that he was out of the city.

John hated to see that defeated line in Rodney's back, though, or the way that Rodney didn't say another word until they'd set up the canvas-topped pavilion, the beach chairs and everything else John had brought with no greater purpose than to be relaxing and fun. On a whim John had even borrowed Torren's plastic sand pails and shovels from Teyla, because he figured that Rodney might enjoy using his genius to build something that no one's lives depended on. Rodney smiled a little when he saw them in the jumper, but that was the happiest John had seen him all day. Right now Rodney stretched out on his beach chair as rigidly as if it was the Control chair and he'd just been told it was up to him alone to fend off an entire fleet of Wraith.

John sighed and lay back much more languidly. He eyed the waves, noting with disappointment that he wouldn't be able to surf. He'd made sure to set up right next to the jumper, so if there was a problem they could return to Atlantis immediately. They were going to spend the night in the jumper as well. John would've preferred a tent on the sand, except that Rodney had gone pale when he suggested it. But the only part of the long, beautiful beach where they could land a jumper close enough had the worst waves for surfing.

But it was a major victory that Rodney was there at all, so John wasn't going to complain.

"I really think we should put on sunscreen," Rodney said.

John smiled. "We're completely in the shade, Rodney. I promise that you can slather us both up like mud wrestlers if we're going to do anything other than lie here. But right now there's no point. Nothing's touching us." He looked at Rodney and grinned. "Besides, you've got your jaunty hat."

"There's nothing wrong with my hat!" Rodney glowered at him. He looked ridiculous under the wide-brimmed fishing hat he'd borrowed from Beckett, especially all flinty-eyed with indignation. John couldn't stop smiling at him until Rodney's irritation morphed into bafflement.

"What?" he asked, uncrossing his arms. He started searching around himself as if he thought John wasn't actually looking at him.

"I love you," John said simply.

Rodney blinked. "Oh," he said. "Um, thank you." He looked back at John. "I, uh, love you too. You know that, right?"

"I know." John said it with such seriousness that Rodney blushed and looked down at the sand.

John smiled again, linked his hands behind his head then lay back and closed his eyes.

He was drifting comfortably somewhere that wasn't quite awake when Rodney spoke again.

"I, uh, I know you want me to, to be myself. I mean, the person I was," he said.

John opened his eyes and sat up, turning in the chair so he was facing Rodney. He stayed quiet, waiting.

"Yeah," Rodney said. He rubbed some sweat off his lip. He was staring at the sand again as if he was ashamed to meet John's eyes. "So, I know you want me to be normal again. And I'm sorry that it's been taking so long."

"It's only been a month, Rodney," John said.

Rodney shrugged. "That's a long time."

"No it isn't," John insisted. Of course he wanted Rodney to be happy again, to be cheerful and relaxed and to look forward to going off-world. But he could wait as long as he had to. Rodney was alive; that was all John needed.

Rodney shrugged like it didn't matter what John thought. John bristled a bit at that but didn't show it. "I feel like a coward, sometimes," Rodney went on, "because I'm so…uncomfortable with going through the gate." He swallowed. "But, the thing is, it's not for me." He took a deep breath then turned towards John, and his eyes looked like they had back in the infirmary when Rodney was insisting that John was dead. "I'm not scared for me. I'm terrified I'm going to lose you. I'm terrified out of my fucking mind and I can't sleep at night, thinking about it." He took off his hat to rub his forehead, and it was easy to see how Rodney's hand was trembling. "And I can't get rid of it. And I don't know what to do."

"I feel like that too," John said.

Rodney stared at him. "You do? Really?"

He sounded so incredulous that John's eyes narrowed in anger. "Do you really think I don't care about all the thousands of things that could happen to you out here?" he demanded. He gestured sharply at the space around them, meaning the entire Pegasus galaxy. Rodney seemed to get it. "Do you think I don't feel so grateful every time we get into a bad situation and survive that I could go to my knees in the fucking gateroom? Jesus Christ, Rodney! Do you really think that after all we've been through and all the people we've lost, that I don't stay up at night thinking about it being you? How anytime anyone got hurt or died that it could've been you?" He ran both hands through his hair. "Do you think I didn't—that I don't—have nightmares about you being trapped in that cave with insects eating you? God, that's my idea of _hell,_ Rodney! And it happened to you! It happened to you and I didn't even know until I heard you screaming!"

Rodney was silent for what felt like a long time, while John sat there with his arms wrapped around his torso and pretended that he wasn't breathing hard, or that the sweat on his back wasn't from more than the heat.

"Oh," Rodney said at last, in a voice so small that it was more like a shape on the air than a word. "I didn't know."

John couldn't quite get to a smirk. "The military leader of Atlantis isn't supposed to be scared of anything."

"Everyone gets scared," Rodney said.

"Yeah," John said seriously. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is what you do about it." It was too hot to hold Rodney's hand so John rubbed his shoulder, tense under the cloth of his light tee-shirt. "You're the bravest guy I know, Rodney."

"I don't feel brave," Rodney said, pulling his hat back onto his head with more force than was really necessary.

John shrugged. "I know. But you are. Just the fact that you're here proves that."

Rodney did smirk, though it was humorless and full of self-directed contempt. "Right. You practically had to drag me out of the jumper to go to the beach."

John chuckled. "Well, you've never liked the beach." He squeezed Rodney's shoulder before letting go. "And I know how much you didn't want to be here, and how much it cost you just to step onto the sand. If that's not brave, I don't know what is."

"Thanks," Rodney said.

"'Don't have to thank me for telling you the truth," John said. He lay back down and closed his eyes.

"John?" Rodney asked.

John opened his eyes again and turned his head so he could see Rodney's face. "Yeah?"

"Why would Sgt. Tanner let me think he was you?" Rodney asked, sounding bewildered and sad. "I've been trying to understand that, but I can't. I mean, he must've figured it out, that I thought he was a different John. I'm pretty sure I even called him 'Sheppard' at some point. But he never said anything."

"I wouldn't've either," John said.

Rodney stared at him, aghast. "Why?"

"It's like this," John said. "When you found him, you were both pretty sure that everyone else was dead, right? You had no way of knowing that anyone got out."

Rodney nodded.

"So, look at it from his perspective," John continued. "He's trapped, he can barely breathe, and he pretty sure he's on borrowed time. I figure that he thought if pretending to be me kept you going until you could be rescued, it was worth it." John smiled thinly. "It wasn't like he had anything to lose."

"That was…That was nice of him," Rodney said.

"Yeah," John said roughly, nodding. "Tanner was a good guy."

Rodney rubbed his face. "Yeah," he said. He took a breath. "It would've been easier, though, if I'd known it wasn't you."

"You wouldn't've done anything differently," John said.

"You can't know that," Rodney said.

John looked at him evenly. "Yeah, I can."

Rodney went quiet again, and John watched the ocean, leaving Rodney alone to his thoughts.

"Did I do the right thing?" Rodney asked. He was looking out at the water but obviously seeing something else. "I mean…Did it make it…easier?"

"Yes," John said, putting as much conviction he could into his voice. Rodney had asked him this more than once, but the answer was always the same and always would be. "Beckett said the bullets would've killed him instantly." John nudged Rodney's shin until Rodney finally looked at him. "Tanner would've died slowly and in terrible pain, Rodney. You saved him from that."

Rodney nodded, but he looked away again. "You keep saying that."

"'Cause it's true," John said. He raised his eyebrows. "Do you really think Carson is capable of lying?"

This time Rodney's smirk was tiny but genuine, and John's heart lifted a little to hear it. "No, especially not to you. You'd just have to glare at him and he'd probably start crying."

"Absolutely," John said. "So you can believe me, right?" He tried not to mind that Rodney could hear the hopefulness in his voice. "Right?" he repeated when Rodney didn't answer.

"I believe you," Rodney said, and for the first time it sounded like maybe he really did. "Thank you."

"Anytime," John said. And despite the heat he reached across the space between them and took Rodney's hand.

They stayed like that for awhile, long past when John was feeling sweaty and uncomfortable in the tropical heat, even in the shade of their pavilion. "Hey," he said casually, "what say you and I go swimming?"

"Maybe," Rodney said. It wasn't a 'yes', but it wasn't a 'no', either.

"Great," John said. He grinned. "Grab your sunscreen."

He stood, still holding Rodney's hand. Rodney snagged his homemade sunscreen out of the nearest duffel without letting go of him, but when John walked out from under the pavilion's shade Rodney hesitated.

"Come on," John said, still smiling. He tugged gently on Rodney's arm.

"We're not going deeper than four feet," Rodney said.

John nodded. "Not too deep. I promise." He tugged Rodney's arm again. "Come with me, Rodney," he said.

"Always," Rodney said, and followed John out into the sun.

END


End file.
